


Opulence Is The End

by Nyxierose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or “the inevitable 1920s AU”. Les Amis run a speakeasy, Grantaire has Gatsby-esque tendencies, nobody is officially in charge of the operation, and it’s a miracle they’re all still in one piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The so-called café is a mess, a blur of boxes and debris because someone got their signals crossed again and placed a bigger order than necessary from one of their suppliers. In the center of the room, a young man in a rumpled blue shirt checks things off a list while a girl a few years younger than him whirls around and opens boxes and yells directions. So far, 1923 is off to a smashing start.

”What part of ‘no one drinks apple gin anymore’ did R suddenly forget?” the girl sighs, unveiling several bottles of the stuff.

“Maybe the part where he  _does_  drink it?” the young man replies.

“Well, he owes me big for this because our clientele isn’t going to touch it no matter what it’s mixed with. Even Jehan’s vile bathtub concoctions taste better.”

“Calm down, Ep. Just because you won’t…”

“We have a dozen bottles of the only alcohol that no one on Long Island will buy!” she snaps, hands on her hips as she glares at her partner. “Next time, someone needs to keep this from happening. Understood?”

Combeferre rolls his eyes - he expects no less from her, but he has bigger problems to deal with. “Alright, is that all the crates accounted for?”

“Enough for a month if we’re careful and supplement appropriately. And get rid of…”

“Already ahead of you. Any other impending disasters?”

“None that I see, darling.”

“Well then. Thee hours until open… we just might be alright.”

“Your inner pessimist is showing,” she laughs, wandering over and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re no fun like that.”

“Someone has to run this place. And since Enj isn’t leaving the attic again…”

“I know, I know. You’re the only one who  _can_. But you don’t need to be so worried all the time. Let go tonight. Dance with me. It’s been too long.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she pouts.

“Can’t until everything’s clear.”

“So  _won’t_.”

He pulls her in for a kiss, a proper one this time. “Don’t tell me you thought this would be easy.”

“Never did,” she laughs. “Never wanted that either. But really, would it kill you not to write down every possible bit of information? Live a little, darling. We’re young, we’re the luckiest people alive…”

“Alright. For you.”

The smile on her face as she walks away is a clear indication of victory. “Oh, and my brother’s turning up tonight, staying for a few days again. Do tell the guards.”

Right, because a twelve-year-old taking up space in an illegal establishment is a fabulous idea. Sometimes Combeferre wonders how he hasn’t lost his mind yet… and then he stares at his girl, swinging her hips as she walks away, and he’s not so sure he cares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequelish chapter of sorts. Set a few months before the official beginning of the story - time is irrelevant.

No one’s ever seen the girl before, but they doubt they’ll ever forget her. She’s a hard one to miss, uneven short hair and the lowest dress in the room. Perhaps even a little overdressed - theirs is a decent establishment, sure, but it’s not the right kind of place for a girl like her. That doesn’t stop her from walking like she owns the place, though, doesn’t stop her from ordering the strongest stuff they have on hand  and perching next to a melancholic alcoholic who practically lives at the ABC. No one sees him tonight, though - all eyes are on the sparkly green dress and the girl who moves like an angel.

She’s two drinks further into the night when she feels a hand on her shoulder, whirls around, and ends up staring straight into the eyes of one of the nicest people she’s ever seen. As underground clubs go, she’s been to better, and there’s not a good conversation partner in sight - but then there’s  _him_ , out of place and easy on the eyes and she can’t look away, just as he can’t take his hand off of her.

“That’s no way to introduce yourself to a lady,” she laughs, smiling at him. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not one.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he replies, backing away. Before he can, however, long fingers curl around his wrist.

“So what’s your reason here tonight? A lost lover, perhaps, someone you’d like to forget?”

Combeferre blushes - the very idea is unthinkable for him - and takes a few breaths to regain his composure. “Actually, I’m… I’m rather in charge.”

“Let me guess - as in you don’t want to be but the person who  _really_  is won’t do shit for the life of them.”

“Something like that.”

The girl gets to her feet - heavens, she’s tiny, and yet she takes up more space than a woman nearly a foot shorter than him has any right to - and looks him over. “I have a proposition for you, pretty boy. You need someone who knows their stuff; I need somewhere to stay. You sort out my problem, I’ll sort out yours. Understood?”

“You’ll have to meet with our leader first, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue. He likes people who can stand up for themselves, and you have a certain fire, miss…”

“Eponine,” she finishes, shrugging off his hand like dead skin. “So, where is this mysterious leader?”

“He’s right over there. Black suit, red vest. Tell him that Combeferre sent you about an opportunity.”

“And he won’t think I’m a whore?”

“Last thing on his mind, I promise. Good luck.”

“I’ll see you around,” she calls over her shoulder, and then she is gone and he is shell-shocked in her wake.

After a few moments, he takes the seat she vacated and decides to do the only thing one really  _can_  do in these moments - strike up a conversation with the café’s benefactor. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“The girl?” Grantaire asks, as if he’d barely seen the creature in question. “Not bad if you’re into that, I s’pose.”

“You haven’t stopped staring at him all night.”

“I never do. Never will.”

“You could talk to him. He won’t bite you.”

“Like I’m taking love advice from the man who can’t even admit he thinks the random throwaway girl is pretty.”

“She’s not a throwaway, and you of all people have no right to talk about others like that.”

“C’mon. I’m just playing with you, ‘Ferre, Although if we keep her, you’re never hearing the end of it…”


End file.
